


taste my disaster

by taylocrow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arya is dead, Dark, Dark!Catelyn, Dark!Sansa, F/M, Modern AU, softish darkish Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-23 05:14:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16612592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylocrow/pseuds/taylocrow
Summary: Arya tragically passes away in a car crash, bringing the two most unlikely Stark siblings together in grief.





	1. it’s heavy on my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> idk why I made this or why I made it so dark. It’ll proabably just be two parts. 
> 
>  
> 
> title from Mind Over Matter by Young the Giant

There’s an unwelcome warmth in the air when Sansa opens her car door to approach her sprawling childhood home. It’d been six years since Sansa spent any length of time in Winterfell where she could go outside without a few layers and mittens. The last time she’d seen flowers in full bloom around her home was when she was 14 and had just finished burying her Father.

  
  


Catelyn then made the decision to annually ship the Stark siblings off to various family and friends during the warm months for some peace and solitude. 

  
  


Sansa spent her teenage summers running around The Vale while residing in her Aunt Lysa and Uncle Petyr’s home. It was there that Sansa learned to live double lives. Of secrets and lies and how to hurt and never let it show. In Winterfell she and her older brother Robb, were the Stark family stars, but while she was away she did and said things Sansa Stark never would. 

  
  


That was before she’d been accepted to Riverrun College, her mother’s alma mater, where Sansa rushes Delta Kappa as her mother’s legacy and was on track to become president. Catelyn forced smiles and words but Sansa knew deep down it still wasn’t good enough, still wasn’t enough to make her broken mother whole.

  
  


“ _Come home_.” Robb’s somber and cracked voice had said when Sansa answered her phone. She’d immediately known something was wrong and was proven correct when she was informed of Arya’s crash.

  
  


At 20 years old Sansa walks to the front door to bury her little sister; who had been on the way to check out Sansa’s new off campus apartment in Riverrun when she veered off the road and flipped her car six times down a hill. 

  
  


Catelyn shoves the front door open with all her might and Sansa envelops her mom in a hug so tight she prays it’s enough to keep them both together. “Your room is ready upstairs.” 

  
  


Sansa pulls away and nods her head in response. She’s much too terrified to look at her mom’s eyes, so instead she looks to her brothers standing small beside the booming staircase. All three of them have sagging shoulders and wide eyes, the look of boys without a mother to comfort or guide them. 

  
  


“Hello!” Sansa makes her greeting carry a sing-song tone and the four of them entwine in hugs and swallowed sobs. There’s a shared relief amongst the boys that Sansa is here now. Order has returned and she directs them to put her bags in her room.

  
  


“I missed you.” Rickon’s twelve year old face is sallow when he says it over his shoulder before slinking up the staircase to follow his older brothers. 

  
  


With a heavy heart, Sansa heads to the kitchen to prepare for dinner. As she washes the vegetables and seasons the chicken she tries not to dwell on her youngest brother’s fearful eyes or Bran’s tear stained cheeks. Robb seemed to be going through the motions but looked just as lost as the rest of them. 

  
  


The heaviness in the air announces Catelyn’s presence before she herself can. Sansa turns to her mother’s slender figure and waits for her to speak. “Jon will be here soon.” 

  
  


“Why?” Sansa spits automatically. 

  
  


Catelyn simply shrugs and walks out as silently as she’d walked inside the kitchen. Sansa blinks back the rejection,  _ she’d said what she wanted to hear, right? _

  
  


When Jon walks inside their home, everyone is stoically picking at Sansa’s meal. Sansa herself isn’t hungry, but it had been cathartic to just make it and have everyone set the table and eat together like it were normal. Like the spot next to Bran isn’t glaringly empty. 

  
  


“Hello.” Jon is gruff with his greeting and the boys hop to their feet to smother him in affection. 

  
  


Sansa looks to her mother who merely stares straight ahead as she takes a greedy sip of wine.

  
  


It’s been four years since Sansa has seen Jon. He hasn’t been inside the house really since their dad passed and Catelyn made it obvious he wasn’t welcome. Sansa has only tried her best to follow her mother’s lead, just as she always had. 

  
  


Jon’s black curls are past his ears and his beard is full and well groomed. Since joining the Ranger’s he’s filled out so much so that his sweater is snug against his new muscles. They’re probably not new to anyone but Sansa, either way she feels breathless at the sight of him. 

  
  


When they all gather around the table, Bran pats Arya’s empty chair for Jon to sit. Jon pauses briefly, lifts his eyes to Catelyn’s, and then looks down at Bran. 

  
  


“Please.” Bran scoots the chair out so that the legs rub violently against the oriental rug beneath their feet. 

  
  


Robb is seated next to Sansa and opens his mouth to no doubt invite Jon to sit next to him like usual, but Rickon chimes in with the pleading. 

  
  


“Sit Jon!” Rickon insists and Jon slowly sinks down into Arya’s spot. 

  
  


Sansa’s stomach plummets when Catelyn shoves her chair back and clangs all her plates and silverware while gathering it all up into her thin arms. The room falls silent when she stalks off without a word. Everyone then looks to Sansa for what to do next, and every part of her is fighting to chase after her uncatchable mom, but instead she picks her fork up once again to force a bite of broccoli into her mouth. 

  
  


“I’ll make you a plate.” Robb announces and moves to get up but Sansa puts her hand on his forearm to still him. 

  
  


“I’ve got it.” Sansa takes the napkin from her lap and tosses it carelessly to the table. “Red or white?” 

  
  


Jon clears his throat and shakes his head. “Neither.” 

  
  


Sansa returns to the kitchen in hopes of seeing her mom. Catelyn is ferociously scrubbing at her dishes and makes no move to acknowledge Sansa’s arrival. Without a word, Sansa plates some chicken, broccoli, and sweet potato and steels herself for Catelyn’s reaction. 

  
  


“He’s not sleeping in her room.” Her mom braces herself with her wiry hands on either side of the sink. “He’s not to sit there again and I want him out tomorrow.” 

  
  


Sansa nods sharply and pivots back to the dining room. The room was full of light chatter until she steps foot back inside, then it’s quiet once more while they watch Sansa serve her least favorite sibling. 

  
  


Arya had loved Jon with her whole heart, she was his real sister. Yet here stood Sansa passing him a plate of the food she made. 

  
  


He takes it gratefully and they finally make eye contact long enough for Sansa to feel her heart squeeze. “Thank you, Sansa.” 

  
  


She steps away backwards with as much calm as she can muster, then she rushes up the steps, flies past Arya’s bedroom and throws herself on her childhood bed. Maybe if she weren’t so fucked up she’d cry, but instead she digs her fingernails into her palms and thinks about her mother’s words.  _ I want him gone. _

  
  


But this time she has a hard time tricking herself into agreeing. 

  
  


The next day Sansa throws a bright winter rose onto Arya’s casket and looks away when both Robb and Bran lose their composure. Everyone weeps, the sun shines, and the casket is lowered. 

  
  


Sansa’s one and only sister is gone. 

  
  


She grits her teeth and looks to her mom’s grim face. Catelyn hasn’t spoken since the kitchen, all she’d done is cry at the service and hold Sansa’s hand in a vice grip.

  
  


When they head back to their house for the reception, Catelyn excuses herself to her bedroom and leaves Sansa to hosting. She pretends to be proud when Uncle Petyr tells her how much she is like her mom. 

  
  


After an hour of small talk and keeping the refreshments table covered, Sansa sneaks away to the bathroom for a moment. The two bathrooms downstairs are too public, so she sneaks up the stairs and heads to the restroom shared by Bran and Robb, furthest from the staircase.

  
  


Sansa can’t stomach going to the bathroom where she and Arya once wrestled to the ground because Sansa was taking too long blow drying her hair and Arya couldn’t hear her music in the shower. 

  
  


When she opens the door she finds red eyed Jon staring at himself in the mirror, he drags his hollow eyes to look at her, and quickly wipes at his runny nose. “Sorry.” He mumbles and moves to go past her. Sansa keeps her arm braced on the door jam and her hand tight on the handle, “Me too.” 

  
  


Arya would want this, kindness for Jon since neither their father nor her were around to provide it for him. 

  
  


Jon swallows and shakes his head in denial. “I’ll be leaving soon, just have to get my bag.” 

  
  


“Why are you leaving?” Sansa’s shoulders are stiff and his jaw hangs loose on disbelief. 

  
  


They stare at each other and Sansa notices a scar above his eye and the way his face has aged. He looks nothing like the boy she’s ignored and isolated for years. 

  
  


“I’m sorry.” Sansa doesn’t have anything better to say. 

  
  


Jon chokes on a sob masked as a scoff, “Yeah, me too.” 

  
  


“She was coming to see me.” Sansa explains, or rather, confesses. Because this is all her fault, much like everything else. 

  
  


Jon wipes his eyes with the backs of his weathered hands. “In the car I helped her fix up. Those fucking brakes, man. She wouldn’t listen.” 

  
  


Sansa smirks. “She never does.” 

  
  


They look to another in wonder. Something they have in common, some kind of common ground is unfurling before them, and it’s the death and love of their little sister. 

  
  


“I’m sorry I came here and ruined everything.” Jon isn’t talking about last night. He’s talking about when he moved into her house when he was 12 against her mom’s wishes. He’s talking about when his own mom died and Ned was determined to care for his oldest boy. The baby he’d fathered when he had stepped out on Catelyn. 

  
  


Sansa feels her features go soft, “You…you didn’t.” 

  
  


It’s what Catelyn had said when Sansa overheard her parents screaming in the garage over the boxes of Jon’s things.  _ He’s just come here to ruin everything! Your little bastard. _

  
  


Jon looks past her into Robb’s darkened room and starts to move. “I’d better…”

  
  


Sansa cuts him off by wrapping her arms around him in a frenzied hug. He’s slow to respond, but he does, and he encloses her in the tightest, most comforting embrace she’s felt since her Dad’s passing. 

  
  


She shifts and begins to move back but their arms haven’t dropped. Jon’s looking down at her and dragging his tongue across his lower lip. It’s not a full second before their lips clumsily smash into one another, knocking teeth, and earning hisses from them both. 

  
  


For the first time since Robb’s phone call, Sansa starts to feel something. Jon shoves his tongue into her mouth and it’s messy and it’s rushed and it keeps her from falling off the edge. Then he’s scooping her up and setting her on the marbled counter. Sansa slams her head against the cold mirror and Jon brings his hand up to caress where she’d smacked her head. 

  
  


She pulls away from his light touch and instead grabs his forearm to direct his hand to around her throat. Jon’s eyes are blown black when she moans under his tight squeeze. “Sansa.” 

  
  


“Don’t say my name.” She chokes and Jon squeezes her neck harder. Maybe he’ll kill her so that way she’ll be the dead one instead of Arya. If he squeezes tight enough then maybe it’ll make up for all the times Sansa ignored him, pulled a face, or called him an asshole. 

  
  


Jon pushes up her navy dress and exposes a pair of white hanes underwear, one of her most embarrassing pairs. He shoves it aside while he rubs against her clit so gently it makes her eyes drift shut. 

  
  


“Say mine. Beg.” Jon only lightens his touch more when Sansa’s eyes fly open to meet his. She glares at him and shakes her head. Jon pulls his hand away and she groans. 

  
  


“Jon, stop.” Sansa lifts her hips up so that he can gather she doesn’t mean to stop what he was doing, but to go back to where they were. He is quick to pick up where he left off but with more pressure this time. 

  
  


Jon Snow with his sullen eyes and curly hair. Sansa has never looked at him as long as she is right now and it feels so fucking good to have his hands on her. So much so that she’s deciding whether or not she’s desperate enough just to finish from his friction. 

  
  


She’s dripping for him and his finger is sticky when he puts it up to her parted lips. Sansa’s mouth pulls a frown and Jon is shoving his finger in anyways, “Taste yourself, taste how wet you are for me.” 

  
  


Sansa runs her tongue along his finger and pretends to have a disgusted face that makes Jon groan. He removes his finger from her mouth to unzip his pants and for a split second, Sansa questions this. 

  
  


_ My half brother.  _

  
  


Then he’s got his lips on her jawline and she throws it to the wind. Nothing has ever given her this much feeling. Sansa feels drunk when he lets his hand drop from her throat to begin lapping at the skin with tongue and teeth. 

  
  


She hisses when he shoves the spaghetti straps of her dress down and reveals her breasts to the air conditioned room. Jon is all darkness and cold when he takes a step back, “You’ve always been such a little bitch Sansa.” 

  
  


Sansa’s head spins with all the familiar comebacks she usually had at the ready whenever in Jon’s presence, but instead she just pulls her arms up to cover her freshly exposed chest. 

  
  


Jon yanks her arms down and steps forward to begin rubbing his hard cock against her. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to.” 

  
  


“Then do it.” Sansa digs her nails into his shoulders and Jon is inside her before she can even fully prepare herself. It’s the most full she’s ever felt, with his eyes staring down at her, his firm hand resting on her cheek. 

  
  


Jon Snow is fucking her. Her half wit half brother who she had no reason to ever hate at all. A little boy who lost his mom and was sent to live in a world not his own. A place where Catelyn couldn’t find it in herself to forgive Ned, so she took it out on Jon, and Sansa followed suit in hope that she’d impress her mother. 

  
  


It didn’t get that bad until her Dad died, that’s when Sansa became just as bitter as her mom. Jon was an easy target with his self deprecating and sullen shyness. He’d never bite back. 

  
  


And now he’s biting her neck. Sansa muffles a scream by biting her lip so hard she swears she tastes blood. “Don’t leave a mark.” 

  
  


“Don’t want mom to see?” Jon whispers in her ear. 

  
  


Sansa arches her back to push her bare chest against his button up shirt and digs her nails in harder. Jon laughs into her neck and pounds into her harder. 

  
  


She closes her eyes and reaches a hand down to start touching herself and the noise Jon makes only eggs her on further. For a moment they’re staring at one another, challenging the other to look away, to close their eyes, or really: to cry. 

  
  


Jon starts grunting loud, much too loud for what they’re doing, and Sansa loses the battle and shuts her eyes tight. She can feel the tears beginning to build and if she gives in now, she’ll never get out. 

  
  


“Sansa.” Jon gasps and pulls out just in time to finish on the inside of her thigh. 

  
  


Sansa’s eyes fly open and she sets her jaw. “Don’t say my fucking name.” 

  
  


She pulls her dress up to cover herself and Jon stumbles back in shock of her sharp words. Tears brim painfully in her eyes and she tries desperately to blink them away. Sansa slides off the counter and pushes Jon back in one uncoordinated move. As she exits the bathroom she stumbles over her feet. 

  
  


“Sa—wait!” Jon doesn’t even zip his fly when he catches up with her in Robb’s bedroom. 

  
  


“No need to say this was a mistake.” Sansa turns so he can’t see the tears starting to fall. 

  
  


“I miss her too.” Jon’s voice cracks, “Fuck!” He sniffles and Sansa swings Robb’s door open. 

  
  


“I’ve got the reception.” Sansa excuses herself so that she can escape to her room, much like the night before. 

  
  


“I’ll be staying at the Greyjoy’s.” His voice is distant and shaky. “Please.” 

  
  


She’s not sure what he’s pleading for, and she doesn’t want to ponder. As she steps through the doorway to the hallway, Jon shuts the door behind her, setting her free. 

  
  


Sansa falls to her knees in a heap of sobs, Jon’s cum sticky on her legs. Immediately, he’s by her side, scooping her up, and down the hall they both hear the distinct sound of Catelyn’s door opening. 

  
  


There’s not a peep from her mom when Sansa lets out a wail of agony. All she remembers is Jon tucking her into her bed and closing the door behind him. Sansa can’t find the words to thank him, and when she wakes up hours later to and empty and clean house, she feels more like her mom than ever. 

  
  


It’s then that she decides to head to the Greyjoy’s.

  
  
  



	2. you know you’re on my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this probably could’ve been shorter

It’s somewhere between 8 and 9 PM when Sansa pulls up to Theon Greyjoy’s house. It’s been a while since she’s seen it in all of its dilapidated glory. A few years ago, Sansa took to the bottle during the Christmas season, and Theon made a habit of frequenting the parties she attended to be her DD or let her crash on his couch. 

  
  


Arya had been the one to tell Sansa to get her act together. She’d overheard Sansa puking her guts out one morning before school and she said enough was enough. 

  
  


_ “Get a grip Sansa, can you imagine what Dad’s face would look like if he knew you drank tequila on school nights?”  _

  
  


She hadn’t had José Cuervo since.

  
  


From those blurry nights, Sansa can vaguely remember the faulty sliding glass doors that take you from the back porch and into the worn down Greyjoy kitchen. His dad is working night shift and his sister moved to a house a few neighborhoods over. With any luck, she won’t even see Theon. 

  
  


After crossing through the overgrown grass and sneaking up the wooden porch steps, Sansa is beyond careful fiddling with the handle of the sliding door. There’s a light on in the living room, but hopefully it’s just Jon in there. Theon doesn’t have any spare bedrooms for him to crash. 

  
  


The door slides open gracefully and Sansa steps into the clean kitchen with ease. She shuts the door behind her and practically jumps out of her skin when she spots Theon standing by the fridge. 

  
  


“What are you doing?” Theon’s caught off guard at her appearance. 

  
  


Sansa clutches her chest and takes a deep, grounding breath. “Jesus Theon! You scared me!” 

  
  


“I’m not the one breaking and entering.” Theon opens the fridge and glances around at its contents. 

  
  


Sansa decidedly ignores the comment and asks, “Where’s Jon?” 

  
  


Theon grabs a pizza box and slams the fridge shut with a little too much gusto. He tosses the box to the counter and narrows his eyes, “What are you doing Sansa.” It’s more of a threat than a question. 

  
  


“I’m here to...talk to him.”  _ Why was she here? _

  
  


Theon sets his jaw, “He doesn’t need you coming over here to parrot what your loving mother has already said.”

  
  


A lump rises to her throat at his volatile words, because Theon knows her better than she’d ever admit. For as long as Jon has been around she’s only ever followed her mom’s lead and echoed her sentiment of where she thought Jon belonged. 

  
  


“Sansa.” Jon’s hoarse voice comes from down the hallway. 

  
  


Theon and Sansa lock eyes and Theon raises his eyebrows, “I mean it.” 

  
  


There’s nothing for her to say, and so she excuses herself and heads down to where she can only assume Jon is. When she nudges a cracked door, she spots him sitting up on Theon’s twin mattress.

  
  


“Hey.” Sansa gives him a once over and notices he’s changed his clothes. Gone are the fancy funeral clothes, now replaced by an unfamiliar band tee and jeans. His eyes are bloodshot and his inky curls are disheveled and haphazardly pulled into a low bun that has too many strands coming loose. 

  
  


Jon sits up straighter, “Hey.” 

  
  


Sansa lingers awkwardly in the doorway, feeling ridiculous and out of place. “Are those your clothes?” 

  
  


“No.” Jon looks down at himself and back at her, “My clothes are at your house.” 

  
  


_ Your  _ house, not  _ our _ house.

  
  


“Oh.” Sansa jingles the keys in her hand and shifts from foot to foot. Her dress from the service is on the floor of her bedroom and now she wears a pair of shorts and old plain green shirt from high school that she’s surprised still fits. 

  
  


“Look, about earlier…” Jon uses a hand to smooth his hair. 

  
  


“Don’t.” Sansa stops him before he can hash out anything she doesn’t want to touch on. Not yet. Not in Theon’s room or in his house. Maybe not ever. 

  
  


Jon sticks his tongue to his cheek and huffs a sigh. “You look better.” 

  
  


“You’re lying.” Sansa attempts a smile but she’s not sure how it displays itself upon her exhausted face. Before getting out of her car, Sansa had seen her poor reflection in the mirror and couldn’t bring herself to fret over how she appeared. Her lips are dry, eyes swollen, and she’d only run her fingers through her knotted and wild hair a few times to try to tame it. 

  
  


“I wouldn’t lie.” Jon rubs his palms against his jeans, “I didn’t think you’d be here.” 

  
  


_ You fucked me too well and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. _

  
  


Sansa folds her arms over her chest, “You told me you’d be here.” 

  
  


“Here I am.” Jon looks down at his feet and then back to her. There’s a brief pause as they look over one another, and Sansa feels the same pull she felt from earlier.

  
  


“Are you sleeping here?” Sansa breaks the palpable tension with her question. Jon shrugs and nods, “That’s the plan. Robb’s going to look for apartmentments with me next week.” 

  
  


“You’re staying in Winterfell?” Sansa is beyond shocked. None of her grown siblings had ever spoken of making their hometown their permanent residence. 

  
  


Jon runs the top of his hand along the underside of his jaw and shrugs, “Closer to Wintertown.” 

  
  


He’s never been welcome in Winterfell. 

  
  


She sucks in her cheeks and glances around the room for something to do, the hum of Theon heating up his meal and turning up the television is distant and low, but it’s the only sound filling the air. Suddenly, Jon pats the bed beside him and Sansa doesn’t hesitate like she should before crossing the tiny room to sit next to him. 

  
  


As soon as she shifts to look at him, he’s raising up his hand to touch her face. His palm is weathered and warm as it cradles her cheek and she looks all over his face in lieu of meeting his lingering gaze. Then he very slowly reaches his thumb over to delicately rub against her lower lip, just a whisper of touch against the delicate skin. 

  
  


It sends tingles down her back and causes her breath to turn as shallow as the tide pools Arya loved at the beach. This is far from right, but with his face so close to hers it’s easy to push away the morality of it all. 

  
  


Things like how you shouldn’t want to kiss your brother, but when Jon draws his thumb back and begins to tilt his head; it’s Sansa who pulls him close. Slinging her arms around his neck and drinking him in like the sickly sweet poison he is. 

  
  


Jon lets out some kind of restrained whimper that only makes her kiss him harder, opening her mouth and letting him push her down onto Theon’s cheap and scratchy comforter. They’re at an angle, his forearm is braced against the wall, and Sansa is crooked and cramped but she doesn’t drop her arms from around her neck. 

  
  


It’s more than risky to be like this in Theon’s room with the door cracked. Their childhood friend is just a couple feet away distracting himself with Brooklyn Nine Nine.  Jon’s shaky palm slides up her shirt when the opening credits start and Sansa tunes it out when she feels the same thumb that had just been on her lip begin to tease her nipple. 

  
  


Shamelessly, she arches into him pushing herself as close to him as she can physically be. There’s tears on his cheeks that she can’t be sure aren’t her own. For a moment, Jon draws back, panting and heaving. 

  
  


If he’s waiting for her to say something then he’ll be waiting for days. Sansa is stock still as he tugs at her shorts until they’re just under her knees. 

  
  


Jon buries his face between her thighs and she has to chomp down on her tongue to keep from screaming. His tongue works against her like he’s searching for something that he’s begging for her to provide. Sansa can’t give Jon anything more than gasps she fights to contain. 

  
  


All the while he’s digging his fingers into her hips and drawing her closer to his tantalizing tongue. Sansa swirls her body as best she can despite his ironclad grip but he deems it too much and pulls away suddenly. 

  
  


This makes her groan in discontent and Jon covers her mouth with his hand, “You’re too loud.” 

  
  


Sansa only juts her bottom half upwards and it gets her the exact reaction she wants. With his one hand remaining on her mouth, he adjusts himself to balance on his knees and uses his other to unzip his pants. 

  
  


It’s vile, it’s damning, and it makes her eyes flutter closed. 

  
  


This is just desperation Sansa tells herself as he slips inside her. This is raw, unhinged need. An emptiness they shared and were drowning in. There was no sense of up and down or wrong and right, there was only Jon inside of Sansa making her bite down on his palm. 

  
  


“Fucking hell!” He hisses and she knows he’s really trying not to pound his pain away and into her. 

  
  


Sansa ruts against him and Jon grits his teeth so hard she can hear it. 

  
  


Her tongue licks and sucks across his hand until he drops it from her mouth, “Fuck me, fuck me so you feel better.” Sansa begs and it makes his shoulders sag. 

  
  


He’s looking at her now, but it’s hard to tell what he’s displaying on his face from the darkness. “You’re not like her.” 

  
  


Is he talking about Arya or her mother?

  
  


It makes her clench her eyes tight and stop her rutting, but he doesn’t let her get away that easily. Just like hours before, his hand is reaching between them and starts to expertly rub against her. It’s not as lazy or as teasing this time around and her knees are going slack when he whispers, “I want to see you cum on my cock again. Show me.” 

  
  


“Jon,” she cries out and shakes beneath him. His palm is right back over her mouth and he starts to steadily increase his speed in which he’s fucking her senseless. In her head she says his name over and over. 

  
  


This time when he huffs her name, she doesn’t stop him. Jon pulls out to cum on her thighs again, painting their pain across the pale softness. 

  
  


“Sansa.” Jon is stiff above her, his hand still over her closed mouth. 

  
  


The TV shuts off and it makes him spring off of her faster than anything she’s seen. Her hands are frantic while she fights to pull her shorts up and over the physical evidence of their sins. Jon gulps at air and stares at her in panic. 

  
  


“Want to go back?” Sansa tries not to keep the desperation in her voice as disguised as possible. Jon sees completely through it and looks deflated at the question. How can he say no? 

  
  


Jon heaves a sigh and kicks at the carpet with his toes. “Your mom isn’t going to like it.” 

  
  


“My mom is asleep.” Sansa pushes off of Theon’s bed easily enough, “She’s on enough Valium to knock an elephant out.” 

  
  


Jon’s face is blank as he gathers his keys and wallet before sliding on his boots. It’s a balmy summer night, and Jon still dresses like its winter. While the Stark kids were shipped off to more seasonal locations for summer, Jon spent his time with Uncle Benjen up near Castle Black. That’s probably why Jon can’t ever bring himself to wear a pair of shorts. He’s never gotten used to it. 

  
  


She feels his eyes on her legs as they walk through Theon’s house and tries not to let it psych her out. It’d be too easy to change her mind and slink back into her old habits. Theon is where she left him, standing over the pizza box with a slice dangling from his hands. 

  
  


“Want a piece?” Theon is asking Jon but staring straight at Sansa. 

  
  


Jon shakes his head. “No thanks, I’m headed back. Thanks for today.” 

  
  


Theon tears his eyes away from Sansa to give Jon a hardened stare. “Sure. What was I supposed to do?” 

  
  


Sansa pivots towards the back door then, keys in hand, and slides it open before Jon can change his own mind. When they step onto the back porch, Theon’s standing in the entryway with a hand on the inside handle, “I meant what I said, Sansa.” He shuts the door in their faces and turns back to his pizza without another glance. 

  
  


If Jon is curious about what Theon said he never lets on. Together they walk in heavy silence to her car. When Sansa’s girly pop music plays through the speakers on the car ride home, Jon makes no indication of being bothered by it. His silence is getting eerie now that they’ve pulled into the driveway and are now walking to the front door and he’s said nothing. 

  
  


She pauses on the front porch beside him, but Jon opens the door and pushes forward before she can say or do anything. They look over to the family room on the left and see Bran and Rickon jumping off the couch and running over to where they’re standing. 

  
  


“Jon!” Rickon embraces his older brother excitedly and beams at Sansa while doing so. Bran is much more reserved with his hug and pulls Sansa aside as Rickon ushers Jon into the family room to see his new high score. 

  
  


“You went and got him?” Bran gnaws on his lower lip and scrunches his eyebrows together in concern. 

  
  


“Yeah?” Sansa’s confused that Bran’s tone of voice is starting to sound a lot like Theon’s.

  
  


Bran frowns, “You were...sleeping. Mom didn’t like him staying here.” 

  
  


“Well he’s here now.” Sansa provides simply. 

  
  


“No, like, Mom freaked out in front of everyone who was still here. Robb tried to sneak him out and it only got worse so he had to call Theon to come pick Jon up.” Bran explains with disdain, “It was bad, Sansa.” 

  
  


She’s quiet for a moment, “Mom is still sleeping right?” 

  
  


Bran nods tentatively and Sansa sets her jaw, “She’s upstairs.” 

  
  


“He’s staying here.” She’s as firm as she can be with her sensitive younger brother, she knows he’s frightened after the past few days no matter how cool he tries to play it. Bran fidgets under her gaze before turning and walking over to join Jon and Rickon. 

  
  


Without a second glance Sansa ascends the staircase, even when she feels Jon’s eyes watching her the whole way up. The last thing she expects is to walk into her bedroom and see Robb standing over her vanity. With either hand resting on the desk, he closely inspects the photographs she has crammed into the mirror. Silly pictures of her and her friends and even a random baby photograph of Rickon she found in the garage a few years ago. 

 

 

Robb is slow to acknowledge her presence, but he does so after carefully removing the picture featuring his ex-girlfriend. Margaery and Sansa are beaming while draping their arms over one another’s shoulders, braces and gangly limbs on display in their homecoming dance attire. 

  
  


“She’s always been beautiful.” Robb stares long enough at it that Sansa feels her cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. 

  
  


“Yeah.” Sansa reaches forward and snatches the photo back. She shoves it back in its spot on the mirror and sighs, “Did you come in here to creep around for a trace of Marg?” 

  
  


Robb scoffs, “I’m a glutton when it comes to punishment.” 

  
  


It’s true. 

  
  


Robb’s beyond sweet and endearing but he can never keep it together long enough to _be_ _there_. It’s as if anytime the going gets rough, he’s the first one out the door. Confrontation has never been his strong suit and he tends to always take the easiest route. For too long it made Sansa seethe with bottle up rage, but she found peace when she came to realize that it’s the only way Robb knows how to protect himself. 

  
  


“Well, that’s the only photo as I’m sure you found out.” Sansa gestures around her spotless room. The photos jammed into the wooden frame of her vanity are really the only bit of personality the room has. 

  
  


Robb swallows, “Where’d you go?” 

  
  


He’s scared that she went to go fuck her ex, because that’ll only encourage his obvious temptation to call up his own.

  
  


“You know she doesn’t talk to me. We haven’t seen each other in a year.” Sansa watches his face flinch but it gives her no satisfaction. “I got Jon from Theon’s.” 

  
  


Robb looks gobsmacked and his jaw goes slack, “Jon?”

  
  


“Yeah.” Sansa steps around her brother and knocks her door open further with her hand. She grabs the door knob and pivots to look at him again, “He’s downstairs.” 

  
  


Robb closes his gaping mouth to nod. “That was...nice.” 

  
  


Sansa nods her head towards the hallway to dismiss him and Robb eagerly follows her cue. But before leaving the room he pulls her into an abrupt and suffocating hug.

  
  


When he lets go she gives him a terse smile. “Alright Robb.” Like she has any right or ability to absolve him.

  
  


Robb shrugs, like he does so often, and leaves her room. “Thanks for getting him.” He says it casually and over his shoulder. 

  
  


Robb wouldn’t have ever picked up Jon. 

  
  


Sansa closes her door and crawls onto her bed like she plans on falling asleep. Even as she goes through the motions of getting comfortable, she only ends up staring at her ceiling until she hears all the boys settle in for bed, and even then she waits a little longer. Long enough that she can think through what she’s doing and still chooses to do it anyway. 

  
  


Tiptoeing down the hallway, she nudges open the bedroom door that once held Jon’s world. The band posters, art and miscellaneous objects from atop his dresser, and old childlike comforter are all gone. His personality completely wiped from this spare bedroom. 

  
  


Jon stares in disbelief when she crawls in next to him, but doesn’t stiffen or push her away when she buries her head in his neck and clings onto his shirtless torso. The warmth radiating from his chest makes her panicked heart beat slower, and makes her feel less on edge. With everyone else clinging onto her for direction and comfort, she feels anchored by Jon’s steady and strong arms wrapping around her and keeping her close.

  
  


When her eyelids drift shut and her breathing evens out, she hears him whisper to the silent room, “I’ve got her, I’ve got her for you, I promise.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should I add more or just leave this be?

**Author's Note:**

> unbeta’d - let me know if I messed anything up!!


End file.
